


my tears ricochet

by uchiharvno



Series: passed down like folk songs, our love lasts so long [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uchiharvno/pseuds/uchiharvno
Summary: The professor is inconsolable in the aftermath of Jeralt’s death… and the crown prince of Faerghus isn’t doing any better.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Series: passed down like folk songs, our love lasts so long [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887400
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	my tears ricochet

**Author's Note:**

> “and if i’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes, too”
> 
> \- my tears ricochet // t.s.

The professor is inconsolable in the aftermath of Jeralt’s death… and the crown prince of Faerghus isn’t doing any better. 

His blood boils with anger and every minute of every day that he doesn’t see her, he’s already counting the many ways he could make those fiends pay for what they’d done, counting the many ways to make them hurt. 

The Blue Lions haven’t seen their professor in days. Not in class, not at the greenhouse to tend to her plants or at her usual spot at the fishing dock. Even more worrisome, not once in the dining hall, not even for a single meal. Dimitri spends his nights tossing and turning in his bed, pacing around in his room, worried about her. 

He breaks on the third night. He bolts out of bed and marches towards the first floor dormitories to knock on her door at an unreasonable hour, consumed by a great need to see her, to see that she’s holding herself up well enough. _This_ isn’t what he’d intended.

But Dimitri has always been selfish, hasn’t he? A slave to his impulses, his desires… 

His mouth fastens around a sensitive spot on the side of her neck and his big hands cup her ass, bringing her hips flush against his. Byleth struggles to tug his shirt over his head and quickly unfastens his trousers. The wrongness of it all is not lost on her, especially not with Sothis protesting in the back of her head. Dimitri is her student and she has a moral responsibility to stop this. But he kisses her hard and holds her tight, and she hasn’t felt so alive in days. It doesn’t take long before he’s kissing her hard enough to silence the voice inside her head, hard enough that he pushes the images imprinted in the back of her lids out of her mind; of the imposter student twisting a dagger into Jeralt’s back, of him, falling to the ground… 

She had been buried under the weight of so many unfamiliar emotions. Anger that inks her black from the inside out, sadness that crashes over her in relentless violent waves, and confusion that tears her apart at the seams of her very being. Dimitri takes it all in a fiery inferno of passion and pleasure, replaces it with lust that devoured her whole and a need so great she doesn’t think she’ll ever get enough.

Byleth, the Ashen Demon. Ruthless, emotionless, and cold-blooded. Byleth, the Ashen Demon, come undone for his highness. 

Wrestling with himself, Dimitri stops just before he loses the last of his self-control. He nearly loses himself at the sight before him. The professor, with her deep teal hair splayed messily across rumpled sheets, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed and her swollen lips parted, her naked chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. 

“Professor…” 

“Don’t call me that,” she says abruptly, sternly. He swallows thickly. He’s never referred to her as anything but. 

“Byleth,” he says softly. Up until a second ago, she’d had his tongue inside her mouth and his hands all over her body. Yet, even as he hovers over her in her own bed, with not a single shred of clothing between them, it’s impossibly blue eyes and her name on his tongue that makes her nearly shy away from the intimacy of it all. The feeling intensifies when he presses his forehead against hers. “What do you want?”

 _Anything,_ she thinks, a cry for help that only Sothis could hear, but even she doesn’t reply. _Anything to keep my mind off the questions in my head, to make me feel anything other than this, anything to make me feel human again−if I even_ am _one!_ And her desperation culminates into a single word: “You.”

His eyes widen a fraction and even she is taken aback by her own bluntness, by her own neediness. Blushing furiously despite herself, Byleth turns her head to the side and mumbles, “But only if you want me, too.” 

_If_ he wants her? He nearly grimaces. Doesn’t she understand? He’s been _hers_ from the very first night, the night of their inevitable encounter. “I do,” he mutters against her temple before pressing his lips firmly against the spot. 

Dimitri is not gentle and Byleth is not the least bit surprised by it. His lean and muscular body contains more strength than he knows how to control. She’s seen as much on the battlefield and the training grounds, where he spends the aftermath of sparring sessions apologizing for breaking a weapon for the nth time in a week. But Byleth isn’t breakable, and he doesn’t treat her as such. 

His hands are rough and heavy on her. He squeezes her breasts tightly in his big hands and he leaves stinging nips across her toned stomach. His calloused fingers dig into her flesh and she’s sure that there will be bruises where he grips her thighs to keep them parted as he buries his face between her legs. But that’s for her to worry about later, because her mind blanks out the moment he flattens his tongue over her wet slit. Then he parts her lips with two fingers and circles the tip of his tongue around her clit, and she feels a spike of pleasure run up her spine.

She throws her head back, clutching the sheets beneath her tightly. She’s a sight to behold and Dimitri groans against her folds, pressing his hips into the mattress as he feels himself grow painfully hard while he continues eating her out. Sucking her sensitive nub between his lips, he slips a finger into her sex. And when she whines for more, he pushes a second digit in. “Is this… am I doing it right?” 

“Y-Yes,” she moans. She could hardly recognize the sound of her own voice. “Don’t stop… Dimitri, please−”

He had never cared much that he’d lost his sense of taste all those years ago−such a trivial thing compared to the lives that had been brutality taken right before his eyes. But nestled between Byleth’s strong thighs now, how he wished he could taste her. The sweetness of her lips, the salt on her skin… he couldn’t even begin to imagine what her cunt must taste like, as wet as she already is on his tongue, dripping down his chin. But she moans his name and it more than makes up for his missing fifth sense. 

Byleth has never cried, not even when she was born, according to her own father’s journal. The first time she’d cried was for him and in the days after his death, she’d find that tears would run down her face without her knowing. And here she is now, with tears beading at the corners of her eyes from the intensity of it all and her hands clasped over her mouth to keep her shameless voice down while her student pushes her over the edge with a curl of his fingers and a flick of his tongue. 

A tight coil snaps and her back pushes off the bed in a graceful arch, toes curling as her entire body’s taken over by white-hot pleasure. Dimitri watches in rapt attention as the hands she used to quiet herself reach for her sheets, knuckles growing bone-white with how tightly she clutches them. Her eyes squeeze shut and her face twists with an expression that almost looks pained, but the gush of wetness from her pussy and the feeling of her constricting and pulsing around his fingers tell him otherwise. Then she collapses limply onto the bed and her eyes are bright and glassy when she looks up at him.

“You’re crying, my b−” he bites his tongue. He quickly wipes off the juices dripping from his face before hovering over her once again. “Did I do something wrong, Byleth?”

She shakes her head adamantly and only clings to him in response, wrapping her arms around him to bring him closer. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she runs her fingers through his golden hair. Effectively, he’s put everything out of her mind, pushed away the heavy gloom that’s enveloped her, and eased the suffocating weight in her chest. “We can stop,” he murmurs against her skin before propping himself up so he could look her in the eyes. 

Byleth doesn’t want to stop. Or she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Especially not when his cock, already hard and heavy, rests along her inner thigh. She doesn’t want this to end, as selfish and cruel as it is of her. “Do you want to?” 

“I don’t,” he admits, a little too quickly. “Not if you’ll have me.”

It is presumptuous of him but Dimitri would be lying if he said he never dreamed of this moment. He has often wondered about the softness of her lips, the strength of her thighs, and the warmth of her hands, should they wander over his skin. Byleth is his professor and their relationship is one that is founded on trust. To think of her in such a way… it is sick and perverse. 

And yet here he is; holding her in his arms, his tongue sliding against hers as she tugs at his hair to pull him even closer, kiss him even deeper. His hand covering her breast, squeezing one soft mound and rolling a sensitive nipple between his fingers. Her hand sliding down between their bodies to wrap her fingers around his cock. He gasps sharply at the contact. 

“Have you done this before?” she asks, breathless and devoid of her usual composure. 

He shakes his head, swallowing tightly. “You would be my first.”

He only wishes that this could have happened under different circumstances, one where he isn’t so desperate to give her comfort and she isn’t trying to drown out her own grief. 

He groans when she starts pumping him, moving a tight fist up and down his thick member, already wet with leaking pre-cum. The sound is low and guttural, and Byleth’s body responds to it immediately. “Are you ready?” she asks. She’s almost disgusted by how needy her voice sounds, how weak she’s become for him. Almost. 

Dimitri lowers his hips into hers, grinding his length along her slit. The friction has her writhing underneath him and the mask of princely charm and cool composure that he usually wears cracks. Slowly, he begins pushing into her. Byleth has to fight the impulse to let her eyes slip shut as his thick girth fills her and stretches her in a way she’s never been before. He holds himself there, letting her adjust to his intrusion, and she watches the cracks in his mask break altogether. 

There is something feral about him now, out of control, unhinged. Absentmindedly, she reaches out and brushes her fingertips over rough scarred tissue that mars his skin. He trembles under her touch and his brows furrow as if in a silent plea, for more. “Beautiful,” Byleth whispers breathlessly.

She runs a finger along his sharp jaw to the tip of his chin. She catches his lower lip between her teeth and he groans, hips rolling into hers. Just like that, her trance is broken. Her own hips seem to move on their own, her body coming alive as she meets his shallow thrusts. 

Dimitri could not put a name to this feeling. For years, he had felt numb, his senses dulled by the voices in his head and ghosts that haunt endlessly. Thrusting into her now, feeling her nails break the skin on his back and her tight walls flutter around his cock… he didn’t think he was even capable of feeling so much, that his senses could reach such heights.

And this is as new to Byleth as it is to him. With him buried deep inside her, with her thighs like a vice grip on his hips, and his hot breath fanning over her collarbone, he is as close as he can be, as close as she can have him. Yet she still yearns for him, yearns for _more_. 

“Harder,” she moans, locking her ankles over his backside, and he does the complete opposite. He stills and lifts himself off of her, just enough that she could see his conflicted expression. She softens when she recognizes the look in his eyes as fear, and she brings her hand up to cup his face. “You can’t hurt me, Dimitri…” 

With a low growl, he lets go of the last of his self-control. He grips her thighs and pulls her roughly, slides her over her sheets so that he’s sheathed inside her up to the hilt. Her back arches and a loud cry escapes her lips. She immediately covers her mouth with her hands and he bends down to press open-mouthed kisses along her neck. “I want to hear you more,” he murmurs. 

“I can’t−” she says, voice tight. It wouldn’t do her well if the entire dormitory heard her like this, moaning her head off like a local whore. Even worse if they should find the crown prince in her bed, balls deep inside her, hips snapping hard against her as he fucks her savagely. 

Dimitri parts her lips with his own and swallows her moans instead. She knows it does nothing to silence her but she still finds her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as she tilts her head for a better angle to accommodate his prying tongue into her mouth. She is deafened by the sound of skin slapping against skin, the intermingling of their ragged breathing, and even the slick wet sounds from where they are joined. Byleth loses herself to all of it, loses herself in him. 

Gripping the supple flesh of her ass, he keeps her pressed against him as he continues bucking into her, reaching deeper into her and hitting a spot that nearly makes her eyes roll to the back of her head. She swivels her hips in response and he bites into her shoulder, hard. The stinging pain only intensifies the pleasure. “I’m close,” he grinds out, as her pussy tightens around him. 

Dimitri props himself up with his hands on either side of her head and he brings one between them to rub at her clit with frenzied fervor to bring her closer to another release. For the second time that night, she feels a tingling in the pit of her stomach, a coil that tightens as he rubs her in time with his thrusts. He pounds into her hard and with mindless abandon. 

As he gets closer and closer to his own release, his thrusts become frantic and out of control. It doesn’t take long before he’s pulling out of her, body rigid as he comes with a strangled moan. He spills himself over her stomach, pumping his cock with one hand while he continues fucking her cunt with two fingers, and she’s not too far behind.

With a final curl of his fingers, her orgasm rips through her and his thumb continues circling her clit to help her ride these waves of pleasure. Byleth writhes before him again, thighs twitching as she comes down from her second orgasm. He doesn’t think he can ever get enough of seeing this woman in the throes of pleasure.

Still in a daze and catching her breath, she touches the peculiar fluid all over her torso. It’s thick and sticky, and she’s only about to bring her wet fingers to her mouth, curious about its taste, when she hears a choked noise from where Dimitri had collapsed on the bed next to her. “Please don’t do that,” he says, breathless and bashful. He clumsily rolls out of bed and grabs his shirt to wipe his remnants off of her body and her fingers. “Forgive me for… _soiling_ you like that. I’ve forgotten myself and−”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Dimitri,” she says. Wordlessly, she slips under her covers and leaves enough room for him on a bed designed for a single person. As big as he is, there’s barely enough room for the two of them, but she lies with her head on top of his chest and his arm around her waist.

For the first time since Jeralt’s death, she is able to drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady beating of Dimitri’s heart. If he feels the absence of her own heartbeat, he doesn’t comment on it. 

* * *

She should have known that Dimitri had only been a temporary remedy. In those moments when he held her in his arms, when he buried himself deep inside her, when his lips trailed across her skin reverently, he’d made her forget everything. Her losses, the Church and Fodlan’s petty politics, the senseless fighting and death that follows her everywhere she goes. In that moment, she had simply been _her_ and he was just _him_. 

But not soon after she’s fallen asleep, Byleth bolts up into a sitting position, breathless and with tears in her eyes. She’d dreamed of them again; the girl, the war, her father.

There are too many things that were left unsaid, too many secrets kept hidden, her very own identity still shrouded in mystery. She doesn’t know where to begin, how to start putting together the scattered pieces Jeralt has left behind, how to start picking herself up again after the only constant in her life is suddenly ripped away from her. 

She had watched him die, not once, but _twice_

Dimitri’s strong arms envelope her before she even realizes it, holding her together as her entire body is wracked with sobs. He holds her tight, comforts her, whispers reassurances into her ear. Promises of justice and vengeance, death to her father’s murderer and the vermin threatening Fodlan’s peace−oh, how could he make the promise of bloodshed sound so sweet?

“Know that your enemies are my enemies,” he vows. He presses his mouth to her hair, to her cheek, to her shoulder, and he rubs a comforting hand over her back until her trembling stops. “I will do all I can to help you find justice. There is no one else I can... My strength is yours alone. I will fight as you command... I will kill anyone should you ask it of me.” 

Byleth holds onto his every word. When her crying has ceased and her tears have dried, she stares into empty space with a blank look in her eyes. Dimitri curses those responsible for her grief, curses even the Goddess herself−hasn’t it only been a few nights ago when the two of them had made a wish at the Goddess Tower? She had heard them, he doesn’t doubt it. He’s also never doubted that the Goddess is spiteful and unfair. She would never deliver justice, so it’s up to him now.

The Flame Emperor, Jeralt’s murderer, Tomas, Solon−whatever the fuck he calls himself… monsters, all of them. Just like those responsible for the Tragedy of Duscur, they are but rats that must be killed and he _will_ kill all of them. He will show them no mercy. 

Neither of them go back to sleep after her breakdown; she clings to him and he slips back into her. 

Dimitri rises from her bed just before first light. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if anyone were to see the Blue Lions’ house leader sneaking out of their professor’s room first thing in the morning. She watches him as he picks up his clothes and fixes himself, watches the way his muscles flex under his skin with every move. He’s bruised and scarred all over, but the marks she’s left herself stand out above them all. She’s _stained_ him. 

“Byleth−”

“This never happened,” she says, colder than she’d intended. Her stomach twists when she sees his kind, gentle eyes widen. The hurt is so evident on his face that she has to look away. “Your highness.” 

There is a heavy silence, until she hears his retreating footsteps and the door opening. “Rest well, professor…” 

_What has gotten into you?!_ Sothis gasps in her head, just as the door closes. _Look at him go, like a dejected puppy! This boy is_ devoted _to you, you needn’t be so harsh!_

Byleth pulls the covers over her head and buries her face in her pillow, which still smells like him. “I shouldn’t have let it happen anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> ngl not sure how i feel about this one but i've written this scenario in so many different ways and i just need to get it out of my system once and for all.


End file.
